Papabear
by Bleeding Jazz Gums
Summary: "Because I promise you, if this happens again, which I know it won't, this place will burn."
1. Chapter 1

The first time S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to 'commandeer' his AI, Tony _flipped his fucking lid_.

It was understandable, really. And it didn't matter what Pepper said in those meant-to-be-soothingly undertones, it didn't matter that she said there was absolutely no way they could legally take him(and even if they tried less than legal methods, there is absolutely no way, _absolutely no fucking way_ that they would succeed, not with Banner or Clint or Cap under their roof, he's not so sure about Natasha even though he's sort of grown to like her kickass attitude. And normally, y'know, he would never, ever want to cross paths with her even_ in_ the suit, but if she crossed him on this, crossed him when his 'bots were involved, he had no qualms about pulling all of that pretty hair out. Or at least going down trying.), they still _tried_. The fucking _audacity_...

He's sure he's been under their radar for a while now, he's not exactly subtle, so his opinion of them has gone from 'occasionally stupid with a few shiny stuffs' to 'downright fucking_ ignorant_'. First of all, they really should have taken in the fact that he is Tony Stark. He built a suit from scrap metal in the middle of a goddamn cave in the desert for Chrissake under constant surveillance. Before that, he made the worlds most advanced AI...It would be decades, _decades_ before others were advanced enough to create the kind of intelligence that was JARVIS. Even if Tony was helpless(which he wasn't), even if all he could do was stand back and watch(which he absolutely would not), JARVIS... JARVIS would not accept anything lying down. He was his creators greatest invention, after all. All of that sass and awesome wasn't just for show, thanks and oh fuck you by the way.

Second of all, c'mon, seriously. _Tony Stark here._ Ignoring the fact he is rich and a genius and pretty much made of awesome, one of his most blatant and overly developed characteristics is that he does not share. You want money? Whatever, he was plenty more where that came from. Housing? Hey, as long as you don't snore and he-relatively-likes you, take one of the dozen or so rooms on whatever floor you like.

But if you want his technology? His workshop? Blueprints? Passwords? Security clearance codes? A spare lightbulb?

Kiss his ass. Tony Stark will be in Hell, sipping ice cold margaritas(oh yes, he'd find a way) before someone touches _his_ shit. Most likely though not even then.

Boobytraps, motherfucker.

Nick Fury and him don't get along on the best of days. Seriously. That's a good day; Tony snarking, Fury staring at him with _dolls eyes_, that sorta thing. At most they'll argue. On a bad day, they'll be butting heads over everything and throwing out threats like rice at a wedding. They don't get along, and both of them are totally fine with that.

But for even_ thinking_ of giving the go-ahead to try to hack JARVIS...

They'd been in the middle of a debriefing, all of the Avengers standing in Fury's office. Cap and Bruce flanked his left and right respectively, while Clint hung back with Natasha to his far left. He'd been doing that one eyed smoldering thing while Capsicle recounted the days events(apparently Tony had been just the barest bit off on his aim and had his repulsor beams go through at least seven buildings, but he was maybe just a little bit concussed so cut him some slack for chrissake, and Hulk had gone a little too smash happy once he was flown into a shopping mall and had to be coaxed out with the promise of a rematch with Thor) while Tony had in an incredibly miniature version of a Bluetooth-except much more advanced and basically better in every way-in his ear while JARVIS recounted the damages to the suit.

"_Damages are considerable to the left side, Sir. Specifically the joints, and will require a number of hours of repair before they will move without hindrance. Damages are considerable to the left side_."

Tony paused.

"Is there a glitch in the Matrix, JARVIS?" He asked, casually cutting into Steve's careful recount and having them all turn very pointed looks in his direction. There was a beat.

"..._Yes, Sir, I believe there is_."

Tony was already out the door.

"Stark!" Fury barked. He didn't even pause.

"You better hope you're not behind this, Fury." He calls back, his voice unnaturally calm and even. The distinct silence has followed him out into the hallways, but he's already rounded the corner and is gone.

As it turns out, Fury _is_ behind it. Rather, S.H.I.E.L.D. lackeys are, but it's the same thing, really. He can pretty much see all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s pitifully untalented fingerprints all over JARVIS's code, and this enrages him. They should not have been able to get in as far as they had, which, admittedly, wasn't very far at all and not nearly as far as they wanted, but they got into his_ coding_. They got into his fucking coding, the thing that made JARVIS exactly what he is, snarky and British and one of the most sarcastic dicks Tony has ever known, himself included. They got into that, forced their way into that, laid their grubby sticky fingers on as much of it as they could before JARVIS caught the fuckers and forced them out, consequently frying any equipment they had used in the process.

It's an extremely small price to pay, and Tony is going to ensure that that price rises. Significantly.

He spends the first three days in his workshop, pouring over every detail he can manage while JARVIS helps and Dummy fetches coffee and makes reassuring whirring and beeping noises at the wall, patting it with his claw comfortingly.

JARVIS' sigh is long suffering, but the gratitude is real when he thanks Dummy and tells him yes, yes he is feeling better now.

Pepper comes down, most likely to try to talk to him, but the moment she opens her mouth he raises his head very, very slowly, and just looks at her.  
Her jaw closes a moment later and she sighs.

"JARVIS," she says, sending Tony an exasperated affectionate look. "Are you feeling... Well?"

A pause. "_I am feeling much better now, yes. Thank you for asking, Miss Potts_."

"Of course, JARVIS." She continues, in a sweet and earnest voice, "We'd be lost without you."

"_...Thank you again, Miss Potts_."

"Not at all." The sound of heels on concrete accompanies her on the way out. Tony waits a beat.

"JARVIS?" He murmurs quietly without pausing what he was doing.

"_...I would like another firewall, Sir. If at all possible_..." Here, JARVIS hesitates. If anything, Tony's hands fly even faster over the on screen keyboard. "..._If possible, looked over by you beforehand_."

"Done."

He steps it up and creates the firewall itself from scratch. Right next to JARVIS, it's the most advanced piece of code he has ever created. Another three days are taken to look over it, again and again and again, with Tony actually sleeping at periodic intervals because he's not going to fail JARVIS on this, he just fucking won't, but it gets done. It's done, and it's perfect, and it kind of feels like he can feel the shrapnel in his chest actually move with stunning precision past the arc reactor when he asks, "It's all good, buddy. Do you... Want me to go? So you can install it?" Because that's just silly, about the shrapnel part, not with JARVIS. He can't blame the AI if he wants a little time to himself now, just to be alone and be reassured that he's patched and alright and there is_ no way in hell_ they will ever get back in again.

"_No_!" JARVIS cuts into his thoughts in what some would call calm precision, but what Tony knows is more like a little panic. "_No. No, Sir. It shouldn't take more than forty five minutes, twelve seconds to complete the necessary installation_." There's that hesitance again, that brief moment of silence that makes the edges of Tony's vision turn red. Oh yes, he was going to make people pay dearly. "_You have no meetings nor prior engagements, but if you would like to visit Doctor Banner or perhaps_-"

"Here." He says firmly. "I want to stay here."

"..._Thank you, Sir_."

He doesn't answer because there isn't any more to say. He stays the forty five minutes and twelve seconds, and then another thirty so JARVIS can get accustomed and comfortable. Dummy, nearby, is ready with the fire extinguisher.

"Feelin' good, buddy?" Tony asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"_Yes, Sir_."

"Need me for anything else?"

"_Not at the moment, Sir, no_."

Tony smiled, upper lip curling and teeth exposed in what actually passed more as a viciously gleeful snarl than anything else. "Good. I believe I'll be paying S.H.I.E.L.D. a visit then."

"_Very good, Sir_."

He arrives at S.H.I.E.L.D. later that day, sunglasses firmly on his face and in his most expensive suit, posture as lazy and comfortable as if he were at home instead of walking straight past a loudly complaining Agent Hill right into the Tech division.

In the end, he makes three different people whom he knows had nothing to do with the hacking cry, but at this point he gives absolutely zero fucks whatsoever and he's really just trying to prove a point now. He knows exactly who had the (un)lucky break to somehow get into JARVIS' code, has his eye on them the entire time he informs the Tech division that most of them have utterly destroyed credit scores and the rest are considered sex offenders in thirty seven states.

If he just so happens to let his eyes mingle on the two little asswipes who thought they could touch his shit and get away with it for a beat or four longer than necessary, well, that's his business.

Also theirs, if they happen to step into any of the aforementioned thirty seven states.

Which included this one.

But yeah.

There are some protests, but not a lot, and they trail off before they actually really form. Tony's smile is slow coming and razor sharp.

"That's what I thought."

Just for good measure though, he'll have to freeze their Facebooks and bank accounts. Not forever; he was a dick, but he wasn't a complete and utter asshole. They'd be unfrozen in a couple months. Maybe. Most of them. Yeah.

And because he's Tony Stark and he _knows_ most, if not all, of S.H.I.E.L.D. is watching, he turns to the not so secret security camera in the corner and slips his sunglasses down his nose just a barest inch. "And to you all-yeah, that includes you, Popeye-if any of you attempt anything again on any of my 'bots or technology, I'm going to personally make sure that none of you are legally able to set foot in Columbia again." His smile bares his teeth. "And then send you to Colombia. Do you know what they do to you in Columbia? _Absolutely fucking nothing_ that could hope to compare to what I will do to all of you if you go near what is mine again. This is nothing. You should thank me for only going as far as I did. Because I promise you, if this happens again, which I know it won't, this place will burn."

He strolls out of Tech, out of S.H.I.E.L.D. Nobody stops him.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha did not like Tony Stark; at the same time, she did.

It wasn't anything the man did, per se. And after the happenings of the Chitauri attack in New York, she would be hard pressed to not respect him, if just a little. It was a draw, really, on her feelings towards the billionare; she'd worked for him, and he made no real effort to hide his more offensive characteristics. It was that lack of effort that had her pausing, unable to decide if she disliked or appreciated the desperately flawed man, who knew he was flawed, and was too lazy to do anything about it.

Or believed it too late to do anything about it.

Either way, it made it exceptionally easy to dislike him some days... And exceptionally hard on others.

Natasha was not use to this sort of indecision. In her line of work, she'd be dead because of it. And that's just unacceptable.

But he's her teammate; just like Bruce is, just like Steve and Thor and Clint. They're all on the same side, all working towards the same goal. They don't need to like each other, they just have to tolerate each others presence, trust the others enough to watch their back, and trust them not to slit your throat while you slept.

It took her a week to really fall asleep in the Tower, but that's not the point. The point is, Natasha respects Stark, trusts him with her life, but she's apathetic(?) towards him otherwise. And Clint might be the one with bird vision, but he's not the only one who see's all. That's another thing that could get her killed; lack of vigilance.

She sees Steve in the early mornings, destroying punching bag after punching bag with the kind of muscle that could break down buildings and very, very important people. It's that vigilance though that shows her the light bags under his eyes that even the serum can't get rid of, and the way his shoulders bow as if he's carrying the world on his shoulders. It shows her that under all of that sheer brute strength is a man who believes in his country and the people in it, and is ready to defend it all to the end. Again.

She sees Thor and Clint late in the nights, heads bent together and half asleep and snoring watching Disney movies on replay, but she _sees _the way Clint had to put on subtitles because Thor talks along with the movie, his lips still moving every now and then even if his eyes are closed and his head is drooping, and that Clint is _actually _falling asleep in the presence of someone he has known less than three years.

She sees Bruce and Tony working so hard for days on end, running on coffee fumes and bits of granola and trailmix, driving themselves to the edge and putting themselves on the line just so they can finish whatever tech or experiment they're working on. Vigilance grabs her attention on the blueprints for an upgraded bow for Clint in the corner, stealth knives for her, more durable armor for Steve-

-and damn it, she didn't want to like Stark. She didn't want to like _any _of them. She barely liked Clint. In her line of work...

...Well. What did it matter? Nearly everything was reason enough for her to get killed; all that mattered was that she avoided the dying part(and found whoever was foolish enough to accept the task of trying to end her). And if she had a few people at her back who would help her with either(if not both) of those tasks, well... Who could blame her for the instant thought of disbelief?

It was that disbelief that has kept her alive. It was that disbelief that made it very easy to believe Tony was full of himself.

Natasha is very rarely wrong. Ever.

It's not that she believes Stark incapable of caring for anyone other than himself-indeed, Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, they're all testaments to the heart he claims he doesn't have. It's just that they-or anyone, really- can't compete with the mans own affection for himself, the intensity of which is only challenged by his self loathing.

The shrinks down at S.H.I.E.L.D. would have a field day with him.

As it was, another division of S.H.I.E.L.D. has a field day with something that isn't him, but might as well have been. It's not S.H.I.E.L.D.'s first mistake, but it very well might be that divisions last. There's really no reason that she shouldn't have heard of this before it happened, even if she didn't live in the S.H.I.E.L.D. dorms anymore, which means that it was either a very tight-knit group with very tight knit mouths, or someone is missing their tongue. She takes it as a personal offense she is the second to know anyway.

They're in the middle of a debriefing. The Captain is standing front and center, firing off his report of the battle and doing his best professional tone. Clint is beside her, murmuring quietly out of the corner of his mouth to her. Thor is off in a corner, apart from them but only just, watching. Bruce is a little unsteady on his feet, but he's upright; which is more than she can say for Tony, who is slouched and looking the very embodiment of unconcerned and lazy.

He doesn't move, but suddenly something is inexplicably off, and she tenses.

"Is there a glitch in the Matrix, JARVIS?" He says normally, cutting Steve off and getting a surprised-quickly-turned-offended look in reply.

There's a pause, and even _she's _surprised at how fast he's moved without the suit.

"Stark!" Fury shouts, eye narrowed dangerously, having stood up so fast his chair is teetering dangerously.

"You better hope you're not behind this, Fury," is the only reply the Director gets. The silence is heavy and a little pressing. No one says a thing, not when Fury slowly lowers himself back into his chair, and not when his narrowed, thoughtful gaze snaps to them and hardens.

"I'll expect a written follow up of the rest of the events, Captain. Dismissed."

They leave.

By the time they get to the Tower, Tony is no where to be found, and JARVIS refuses to answer any of their inquiries. A quick call to Pepper confirms there are no immediate threats, but that the AI had been compromised, and Tony would most likely be down in the workshop fixing what needed to be fixed and, no, maybe he shouldn't be bothered quite yet.

"You don't think.._. _we need to... Do... Something?" Bruce asks hesitantly, off to the side with his hands folded demurely in his lap, having collapsed into a chair only moments before. His gaze is on his hands, but Natasha-ever vigilant-sees his jaw clenching periodically, the way his fingers twitch, and his eyes glance up sharply before fluttering down.

"...No," Natasha decides. "This is Starks area. His tech, his problem."

Even Clint begins to protest. She holds up a hand. "His tech. His area. On this, we stand down."

"_That would be best for now,_" JARVIS interrupts calmly. "_Thank you, Miss Romanov._"

She doesn't reply, but instead inclines her head. The rest of the team grumbles-Steve, especially, they're a team aren't they teams work together this is just... Just... _Crap_-but go back to their normal routine, albeit reluctantly.

It's nearly a week later when she catches sight of Tony again, looking normal and none the worse for wear dressed in a crisp looking suit. It's early, Steve is out for his usual morning jog and Thor, Clint and Bruce haven't even bothered to wake up yet, so it's just her standing in the kitchen drinking coffee when he walks in.

She's seen that look in his eyes before; the look parents of dead and abused and kidnapped children have. That look of absolute rage, the fury that makes their very soul thrash at the injustice. The distant ice of an executioner speculating its latest kill; and below it all, the heart-wrenching grief and protective instincts that rear up and bite at any who pass.

"So," he says casually, leaning against the counter. She keeps her stance deliberately relaxed. "You've heard?"

"Yes. How is he?"

"Good. Better. Metric fucking tons better." His head tilts to the side, and that falcon-study of the field mouse look takes over in his eyes. Instead of a sharp stab of irritation, she feels respect. Not many had aimed that particular look at her once finding out who she was. "So... Am I correct in the assumption that you're not a part of this?"

And because she couldn't fault him the legitimate disbelief that has kept her alive for many, many years, she says, "Вы меня кормить. Приют меня. Поверьте мне, с вашей жизнью." Now, in English, "I have not betrayed what you've given me here."

For a moment, neither of them said a word. And then Tony inclined his head. "Just checking. I've got a spontaneous meeting to get to." His lips quirk, but it's a smile meant for the dying who deserve to be dead. "Gotta go."

"Раздавить их ниже вашего ботинка. Оставьте только эхо их террор в пути." She raised her mug for cheers. "Good day, Mister Stark."

"Good day, Agent Romanov."

When she's sure he's left the building(Happy phones her after she quickly shoots him a text with the request to do so-the man could take a beating, she would give him that) she vaults over the bar and drags a bedraggled scientist, archer and god to the living room with just the threat of her company in a room where they're asleep. Bruce is yawning wide, Clint and Thor playing tug-of-war over the last box of poptarts when Steve walks in, panting lightly.

"Just in time, Captain." She quirks her eyebrow at him, then directs her attention to the ceiling. "JARVIS?" She asks quietly, and everyone snaps to attention. "If you're feeling up to it."

"_Of course, Miss Romanov._" The AI sounds almost _insulted_, and Natasha smirks.

On the screen, the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility is shown, quickly cutting to a hallway where a nonplussed Agent Hill is giving an offended stare to the back of Tony Starks suit.

"_Hello, children._" Tony says to the room.

"Tech?" Clint asks quietly. Thor hushes him, and earns an insulted look in reply.

And then Tony starts in, going so far as to bring mothers and possible prostitution past-times into the conversation as he casually rips every single person in the room a new one. Steve, standing slackjawed as he stands and listens to the words pouring from Tony's mouth, edges away from her a little when she instinctively smiles when Tony snaps at a woman who had tried to get a word in edgewise and had her crying immediately afterwards.

"_Your credit scores are ruined, ladies and gentlemen. Don't bother getting that mortgage or that schnazzy new car, because trust me, you will get laughed out of there. Also, as a parting gift, here's a fun guessing game; one or more of you are now registered sex offenders in a large number of states! Now, here's the fun part-you all get to figure out which one of you it is, which and how many states it is I'm talking about._" His smile is only a few degrees shy of her own.

A woman in the back and a man open their mouths to protest, but don't get very far, or sound very convincing.

"_That's what I thought._'

His sunglasses slip down a little as he casually turns towards the security camera. "_And to you all-yeah, that includes you, Popeye-_" Bruce snorts out a surprised laugh, quickly smothering it. "_If any of you attempt anything again on any of my 'bots or technology, I'm going to personally make sure that none of you are legally able to set foot in Columbia again._"

"Oh my god," Steve mutters, eyes huge. "What is he doing?"

"He's defending what's his." Natasha murmurs back.

"_And then send you to Columbia. Do you know what they do to you in Columbia? Absolutely fucking nothing that could hope to compare to what I will do to all of you if you go near what is mine again. This is nothing. You should thank me for only going as far as I did. Because I promise you, if this happens again, which I know it won't, this place will burn._" Seemingly satisfied, Tony left. The TV went black.

"The Man of Iron is a worthy foe indeed!" Thor throws his head back and laughs loudly. When he next speaks, his voice is full of pride and maybe just a bit dark as well. "Guarding his wondrous creatures as a mother dragon guards her eggs! Sir JARVIS, you are truly lucky to have such a warrior as your protector, going against even those who claim to be his Masters."

"_Quite right._" JARVIS agrees readily.

When Natasha's phone rings, she flips it open without hesitation and smirks. "Director," she says airily. "What a lovely surprise."

"Just come and get this motherfucker before he makes good on his threat and channels his inner pyromaniac." Fury says warily.

If Stark's display hadn't already done it, Fury's obvious discomfort would have. Hell, it was official; she liked Tony Stark, man who claimed to have no heart to speak of even if she had just that morning seen it broken just a little in his eyes over something that others wouldn't have given a second thought about. It irks, just a bit, knowing that she was wrong, but she'll let it slide. This time.

"With pleasure, Sir."

* * *

_First of all? I totally didn't plan to expand on this. I mean, I just really, really wanted to contribute to the squishy adorable over-protective botfics out there where Tony goes Terminator and stomps on all the itty bitty people trying to eff with his 'bots. I got reviews though saying how they think it'd be cool if I showed the Avengers/Fury's reaction... And Natasha just sort of slipped out as narrator. So enjoy that. _

_Second of all, here's translations;  
_

Вы меня кормить. Приют меня. Поверьте мне, с вашей жизнью You feed me. Shelter me. Trust me with your life.

Раздавить их ниже вашего ботинка. Оставьте только эхо их террор в пути. = Crush them below your boot. Leave only the echo of their terror in your wake.

_Please be aware that this might not be entirely accurate, as I used Google Translate, and that fucker is unreliable as all hell. If I got anything wrong, I blame Natasha.__ Ahaha, no, just kidding. She'd punch me in the face.  
_

_I might write Fury's reaction. Maybe. **Maybe**. Possibly not, but hell, you never know. I hope you enjoyed.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

To say Nick Fury doesn't know the happenings going on in his own goddamn headquarters is a grossly ignorant statement. He knows things about his subordinates that would make their mothers blush. He knew which employees were dating who(filed and not), which employee went to yoga classes in the morning, and which ones were prone to eating other peoples' lunches from break room fridges.

He knows what they do, how they do it, and which one of them fucks up first. So yes, he's well aware of what his Agents do, on and off the clock. While it was unreasonable to assume that just because he had one eye that meant he couldn't see all, it was also unreasonable to assume that Fury knew everything that was going on with his Agents every minute of every day.

It was close, but still.

He has things to do, goddammit; keeping up with his dumbass employees social(and lack thereof) lives is not high on his list of things to do.

So when Tony Stark is walking out of his office in the middle of a post mission report by Captain America, without so much as a half assed dismissal to the rest of them, Fury is a little curious-however much it fucking pains him to say-as to why.

Of course, this takes second to the immediate flare of irritation that nearly always accompanies any situation that involves Stark.

"Stark!" He yells instinctively, slamming his palms down hard on the top of his desk.

"You better hope you're not behind this, Fury."

And Fury, Fury would shoot himself in his own goddamn leg with his own gun before admitting it if it wasn't part of the job description, but he knew Stark. He knew the smile and charming facade that Stark put on before going out to parties and ritzy social gatherings, he knew an emotionally and physically drained Stark, a dying Stark, and more often then not, an emotionally constipated smart ass _dick_ Stark. Lord help him for knowing the differences, but it was his job; if he couldn't pick out the differences in tones his Agents use with just the barest, barely there inflections, a lot of people would be dead. Literally. So when he catches the faint tilt at the end of Stark's sentence, his eyes narrow. A moment later his attention snaps back to the rest of the Avengers.

"I'll expect a written follow up of the rest of the events, Captain. Dismissed."

They leave.

Thoughtfully, Fury leans back in his chair and staples his fingers together.

"Sir?" Agent Hill asks, having poked her head in cautiously. "The Avengers just left after Stark. He didn't appear too pleased."

Fury scoffs. "I want to be notified immediately if that man looks 'too pleased' on S.H.I.E.L.D. property."

"Duly noted, Sir."

"Hill," he said after a moment.

"Sir?"

"I'd like a report of personal and work-related happenings going on here. Preferably by tomorrow."

"...Uh. Any particular reason I'll be digging up gossip, Sir?"

"Because I'm your fucking boss?" He suggested without any real heat. "Just get me that report, Hill."

"Of course, Sir." She replied dryly, and ducked out.

And because Agent Hill succeeded Agent Coulson for a reason-besides the fact of her reluctance to go within thirty yards of the Avengers on any given day-he had that report by noon.

Said Agent kept her place as he picked up the folder.

"Agent?" He asked blandly, glancing up.

"Sir. As per your... Request," her eyebrows winged up, which Fury steadily ignored in favor of giving her the full force of his attention, made no less intense by his lack of one eye. "All findings have been reported. I think," she went on, cautiously, and Fury's gaze sharpened. "That you should perhaps read Section A-B 13-4 first."

"Why would that be, Agent Hill?"

"It... Relates most directly to Stark." Her tone, and gaze, is solemn. "More to the point, Sir, his tech. His tech that is not a weapon, nor was designed for such."

"Hell," Fury mutters.

"Yes, Sir."

"What idiot decided this was a good idea?"

"Louis and Carmichael from Tech. Sir."

Frowning hard, Fury stared down at the folder between his hands. After a few silent moments, Hill spoke back up.

"Sir? What will we do?"

Slowly, Fury said, "What can we do? These are just rumors, after all."

They could do a hell of a lot based on rumors alone. Hill's eyebrows lifted.

"Nothing," he clarified. Then, "For now."

"Of course, Sir."

Truth be told, Fury didn't like Stark. This was not a secret, nor did he make it out to be one. The man was irresponsible, disrespectful, and just a general all around caring asshole; oh, he thought he was being clever. Show the world you care for it, but be flippant about it, and they'll think it's one more joke and never see how deep that empathy runs.

Most of all, though, Fury's biggest problem with the man was that he was_ unreliable_. An unreliable Agent in the field is a liability, not only to himself and his teammates but the organization that he works for. It was originally why he was so reluctant to let Stark join the Avengers Initiative in the first place; he needed to know that if he couldn't at least trust his Agents, he could control them.

Neither apply overly much to Stark.

Honestly, Fury would appreciate any reason to kick Stark out of his goddamn building and off his goddamn Initiative. He also occasionally wants to do it to Barton and Banner as well, but Stark? He takes the cake. Has to be first for everything, and this is no exception.

So maybe this is equal parts curiosity to see what the billionaire will do now, and if it'll be something that Fury can get him arrested for. Hell, if he's lucky, finally find a viable excuse to get his ass off the Initiative.

Despite the vehement claims otherwise, Stark is in possessions of one of the most bleeding hearts Fury has ever seen; and however much the man assures otherwise, he is predictable. In that he is unpredictable.

And it annoys him to no fucking end.

So when Agent Hill approaches him two days after his request for intel in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and just says, "His AI.", Fury is understandably put on edge at this new information.

Because Stark, Stark is right up there with dumbass stunts pulled to protect those he cares about next to Agent Barton and Romanov, except at least Romanov takes time to formulate a goddamn plan and Barton doesn't have the money to fully put forth any revenge he feels the need to employ on those who have wronged him or his.

Stark has a habit of never doing the first and unfortunately for his ulcer, has more than enough of the second. It's a dangerous combination, one that could very well(and occasionally _does_) endanger all around him. It's not like he can just pull him out of the Initiative though, as Fury is very well aware that the insufferable man will just put on his goddamn tin suit and fly around anyway; he'd much rather have him where he can watch him.

So when nothing happens for days, Fury is understandably on edge... More than usual. He's having Tech scan their own damn Network every other hour, security cameras are set to the highest function to notice the littlest of movement, and he's popping antacids like tictacs.

Not that anyone knows this. He's swept his office four different times in the last twelve hours; nobody, not even Hill, is aware of just how many rolls he's gone through.

There hasn't been a person who wasn't hugged enough as a child hellbent on destroying mankind in days; paperwork isn't piling high on his desk, coming in faster than he honestly cares to keep track of; and no one has been dumb enough to file a report on their stolen lunches in the break room fridge in a week. One would think Fury might actually be able to relax, to sit back and enjoy the relative peace and silence that his job so rarely allows him, no matter how brief it may be.

"_Sir_," Hill's voice says through the intercom on his desk. "_You might want to come take a look at this. Video feed, Tech division, Section three._"

One would be wrong.

"I'll be right there," he replies, index and middle fingers pressed viciously into his already throbbing temple. He pops three more antacids before he leaves, putting on his _No Bullshit _face as he walks toward the main area where various Agents are gathered around the huge holographic screen where a scowling Hill is shifting her weight from side to side. Beside the view, Tony Stark, dressed in a spotless suit and sporting a pair of one of his ridiculous sunglasses is entering Tech.

"_Do I intercede?_" Hill asks, staring directly into the security camera, frowning hard.

Eyes narrowed thoughtfully, Fury presses the intercom button for that hallway. "No. Stand down for now. If it looks like Stark is going to get violent, take him down."

"_Understood._"

Fury shifts his attention to the second screen, gaze hard and unsurprised when Stark casually strolls into the room as if he owns it.

"_Hello, children._" He greets flippantly, charmingly mocking smirk already in place. Fury's eyebrow goes up when he see's the hidden razor-edge quality hiding underneath it. And then he starts in.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is home to some... Hell, _most_ of the deadliest people on Earth. People who will gut you after you buy them dinner and slit your throat when your back is turned, knew how to kill others a hundred different ways with their hands alone. Christ, they could tell you with the most serious expression you have ever witnessed that they shit bricks of gold; and get you to _believe _them.

More than half the rooms' occupants flinch back only a dozen words into Starks' casually delivered speech, and Fury is holding himself back with will alone. He hates, he _loathes _to admit it, but he's actually just a bit impressed with the creative insults the man is throwing out.

And, if he were being totally honest, _wary_. Fury has seen many shades of Tony Stark, has made it his job to recognize each enunciation of certain sentences because it is his job and he takes his job fucking seriously, so he knows this tone; he knows the bubbling rage that's kept on a tight leash underneath it, given only enough slack to snap at the heels of those passing by, enough flesh caught to pierce the skin and sting viciously and yet not enough to bleed.

He knows this, but never from Stark. Not like this.

On screen, some of his employee's hastily cut themselves off mid sentence.

"_That's what I thought._"

Fury tilts his head back, watching. Waiting.

"_And to you all-yeah, that includes you, Popeye-_" Several Agents gasp, which Fury will be forced to rectify later, but for now just settles on curling his upper lip. "_If any of you attempt anything again on any of my 'bots or technology, I'm going to personally make sure that none of you are legally able to set foot in Columbia again._"

There are murmurs now starting amongst the Agents around the room; this once, Fury keeps his full attention on Stark.

"_And then send you to Columbia. Do you know what they do to you in Columbia? Absolutely fucking nothing that could hope to compare to what I will do to all of you if you go near what is mine again. This is nothing. You should thank me for only going as far as I did. Because I promise you, if this happens again, which I know it won't, this place will burn._"

He doesn't doubt it.

Feeling years older, Fury rubs his forehead-several more Agents gasp, he is going to send them on fucking stake out missions for months-and reaches for his phone. The screen is empty now but for emotional Tech employee's. Every other screen, Stark is calmly strolling through the hallways toward the exit.

"Director," Natasha greets smoothly, voice light and almost playful in a way that makes Fury's fingers twitch to draw his sidearm. "What a lovely surprise."

"Just come and get this motherfucker before he makes good on his threat and channels his inner pyromaniac." He very nearly sighs.

"With pleasure, Sir."

He snaps the phone closed just as Hill appears at his side. "Sir?"

"Get Louis and Carmichael up here," he says, spine straightening. "They're on paper duty until hell rains fuckin' kittens."

* * *

_I kinda... Feel the need to explain this one. I really, really wanted to make Fury an unlikeable character in this; he's an asshole, he knows he's an asshole, and he doesn't pretend otherwise. To me, if someone can get you to really, really dislike a character(and I mean like the kind of dislike you still have for that kid who spilt milk down the front of your new shirt at school that one time that you're sure you'll never get over) then that shows true skill. It's so easy to like fictional characters someone's written; but when people can really get down and dirty **dis**liking them, that's when you know you've done a job well done. I really, really hope I've accomplished it here.  
_

_Um, anyway. Good news!(?) I love overprotective!Tony so much, watch out for the sequel coming out shortly. There'll be more overprotective!Tony, and even scary!protective!JARVIS. Look forward to that. Peace out, motherfuckers._


End file.
